


guilty on the run

by sleeplessmiles



Series: borders and horizon lines [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4622664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fleeing Skye's pursuers, May, Skye and Jemma seek refuge in May's childhood home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	guilty on the run

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago (in the hiatus after 2a, I believe) for a prompt on tumblr and never got around to posting it over here, so I figured I should get onto that. Also, I started writing the section immediately preceding this (angsty MaySimmons extraction road trip of angst, anyone??) before the new season distracted me and I never really got around to finishing it. Maybe one day I'll revisit it. But anyway, hopefully this still makes sense without that added context!! 
> 
> Also, 2b hasn't happened here, so the whole Inhuman situation (the existence of a teleporter, amongst other things) is a little different.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

The most jarring aspect of this, May decides, is that her teenaged self would have physically recoiled from the mere suggestion of it. Seeking refuge with her mother – not once, but  _twice_  in only eighteen months? She would have seriously lost her cool.

And yet, that’s exactly what has happened.

Truth be told, May’s infinitely grateful; she hadn’t had the opportunity to call ahead, focused as she was on losing their tail. Jemma had been frantically tending to Skye’s injuries in the backseat, so neither of them had been able to call either. But May’s mother hadn’t even questioned it when the bedraggled agents showed up on her doorstep a few hours ago, simply stepping aside and allowing them to help Skye into the house.

Which is how May ended up here, absurdly poring over a roadmap at the desk in her childhood bedroom.

It’s around 6 in the evening when there’s a soft rapping on the open door, breaking May out of her reverie. Jemma’s standing there with a vaguely alarmed expression on her face.

‘Oh – sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

May doesn’t really have the patience for Jemma’s over-apologising right now, not after the day they’ve had, so she holds up the roadmap in her hands in lieu of an actual response. Let the girl draw her own conclusions.

‘Skye?’ she asks instead.

Jemma’s shoulders slump, and she runs a hand through her short hair – an action May hadn’t ever seen from the girl until Skye decided to flee.

She’s seen it a lot in the days since.

‘Asleep, finally. She was pretty wiped out from the exertion of the past few days, I think, but she was determined to stay awake regardless. I’ll probably have to leave it a few hours before going to bed myself, so that she doesn’t wake.’

The girls are sharing the queen-sized bed in the guest room, despite the fact that there’s a spare bedroom. May’s glad for it, truthfully; she knows that Jemma had been helping Skye with her nightmares, back when they were all still at the Playground. Also, Jemma’s looked as though she’s been mere seconds from wrapping herself around Skye since they picked her up, like she believes she can physically shield Skye from the trouble they’re facing.

Knowing Jemma, she probably does.

The girl in question frowns, now. ‘Also, I think your mother might have been trying to recruit me?’

Despite herself, May smirks. ‘What did you tell her?’

‘Naturally I said I’d consider it. It sounds infinitely more legal than my current line of employment.’

Somewhat belatedly, May realises that Jemma’s still standing just outside the doorway, lingering uncertainty drifting at her very edges. She resists the urge to roll her eyes.

‘You can come in.’

With a grateful smile, Jemma tentatively enters the bedroom, wide eyes drinking everything in. Her curious gaze is quickly drawn to the shelves filled with trophies and other sports awards, and so she creeps over towards them for a better look.

‘This was your room?’ she asks, looking as though she wants to trail her fingers along the trophy nameplates yet holding herself carefully back. Never wanting to put anything out of place, Jemma Simmons. Never wanting to inflict herself upon others. That first time she’d broken down after her ordeal with the med pod, she’d apologised profusely for the wet patch her tears had left on May’s shirt, and refused to meet May’s eyes for the rest of the day.

‘Of sorts.’

Jemma looks across at her then, the unasked question hanging in the air between them, and May purses her lips as she tries to decide how much to explain.

But now is not the time for stories.

‘We moved around a lot,’ is all she provides. It seems to be enough for Jemma though, because she doesn’t press the topic, only nodding to herself. Content to let the girl wander for a bit, May turns back to the roadmap, and the impossible question: where do they run to when they’re outrunning a ghost?

Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she glances back up to see Jemma pulling the curtains open as far as they go, peering out into the fading light.

‘It’s rather dreary in here, isn’t it.’

May raises her eyebrows. Jemma’s been almost unbearably cheeky over the past day and a half, as though she can kickstart their old dynamic through sheer force of will. She never sounds completely genuine – she’s too frantic, her desperation making her all sharp edges and uncomfortable pushiness – but neither May nor Skye have the heart to call her out on it.

‘Says the girl who grew up in England.’

She smiles, a small, hesitant thing. ‘I suppose I walked right into that one.’

As the outside world draws Jemma’s attention once more, May takes the opportunity to examine her young charge. She doesn’t look particularly different, really; she doesn’t look like she’s had to level a gun on other humans several times in the past 24 hours, nor does she look like she’s been fleeing for her life (although, May concedes with a barely-suppressed wince, that’s become almost commonplace in recent times).

Jemma doesn’t look any of those things.

She just looks tired.

Eventually noticing May’s gaze on her and reading the unspoken question, Jemma sighs.

‘I’m holding up alright,’ she promises quietly. ‘I’ll just be glad when this is all over.’

It’s almost startlingly positive, not that May’s particularly surprised anymore. Things are never over for them; Jemma should know that by now. The second they finish dealing with one problem, they find ten more screaming for their attention. But May can see a little of it, a little of the inevitability, creeping into the shadows on Jemma’s face, so she does her the respect of not pointing it out.

Sensing they’re moving into less flippant territory, Jemma rounds the bed to sit on the side nearest May. She levels her with a serious look.

‘How are  _you?_ ’

‘Doesn’t really matter,’ May answers honestly. She watches with a pang of regret as the truth of that hits Jemma, watches it wash over her and settle in as indisputable fact.

May has to be alright, because there’s no other option.

The girl looks stricken.

‘Is there even any point to this? To running, I mean. Couldn’t we just…’ she makes an irritated sound in the back of her throat. ‘Shouldn’t we just fly to some innocuous place in Europe and disappear for a while? Fury’s still there, and Agents Barton and Rom– ’

‘Barton and Romanoff are headed back stateside within the week,’ May corrects. Nat had replied to her message that morning, just before everything had gone to hell. She  _had_ given May a contact number, though, for someone  _handy when you’re on the run from the government._

(She’ll keep that one up her sleeve.)

Jemma falters a bit with this revelation, but she won’t be deterred. ‘Even so, with Fury establishing his network there – ’

‘We can’t put Skye on a plane,’ May says simply. That’s all there is to it. That’s why they’re making their way across the country like common criminals, stealing cars and subsisting on gas station food. If Skye were able to control herself long enough to fly, they’d have disappeared days ago.

No one blames her for it; it simply is what it is.

To May’s surprise, however, Jemma hesitates.

‘But what if we could?’ she asks, voice speculative. Off May’s look, she goes to explain.

‘I’ve been thinking about what I saw of her cells and how the vibrational aspects function, and I’m almost certain I could give her something to “deactivate” her for a period of time. It’s not a perfect solution – it would only nullify the effects, stabilise her cells for a stint before wearing off. So it can’t help her control it. But…’ She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, blows out a tired huff. ‘It’s an option.’

‘Sounds promising,’ May murmurs.

And it does. It really does. For the first time since this ordeal began, May’s feeling a little less permanently landlocked; a little less like they’re just killing time, waiting for the inevitable showdown.

Jemma purses her lips. ‘But I’ll have to talk to Fitz.’

_Oh._

May looks at her watch, does the calculation in her head. ‘Perhaps tomorrow morning,’ she suggests gently. Jemma nods in a way that’s probably meant to hide how much this affects her. Needless to say, it’s not very successful.

‘Did he – has anyone called?’ she asks May after a brief pause, voice all tenuous hope and shaky optimism.

‘Not yet,’ May answers truthfully. Because he will; of that, she is sure. But Jemma looks completely crestfallen, dejected in every sense of the word, so May moves them along.

‘Even if this is a solution? It’s still a while off. We’ll have to keep moving in the meantime.’

She’s nodding before May even finishes the sentence.

‘Skye’s “family,”’ she agrees, stifling a yawn.

‘They’re still in Talbot’s pocket, so we’ve got time. Coulson’s working on buying us a little more.’

They contemplate that for a few moments, silently –  _fiercely_ – hoping that the team can work something out.

‘So we just keep driving,’ Jemma eventually provides.

‘For now.’

She exhales heavily, rubbing her palms nervously on her jean-clad thighs. ‘Well. Alright then.’

Satisfied for the moment, May turns back to her maps and the route she’s only half mapped out. It’s a few minutes before Jemma makes the tiniest uncomfortable sound in the back of her throat, fidgeting on the bed a little. May glances back up at her, sees the reluctance plainly written into the exhausted lines of her face.

‘What?’ she asks.

‘There’s one other party we should consider, but you’re not going to like it.’

May feels her jaw tense. ‘Ward.’

She nods. ‘He and Kara are still on the trail of these “Inhumans,” but I’m not sure how long they’ll stay that way.’

‘Ward’s main priority is threat management,’ May reminds her, voice carefully level. ‘He’s keeping interested parties at bay.’

Jemma chews on her lip. ‘But we’ve moved Skye. You don’t think he’ll follow us?’

May does think he’ll follow them. That’s exactly what she thinks.

‘I don’t think he’ll attack us, if that’s what you’re asking.’

When Jemma makes eye contact, it’s with a steady, determined gaze that should be impossible, given how long she’s been awake. There’s a clear challenge there.

‘It’s not.’

May sighs. She’s not doing this right now.

‘You should get some rest.’

Jemma narrows her eyes at May for a moment, ever so slightly, before deciding to drop the issue. She shakes her head with a tired exhale.

‘It’ll wake Skye if I go in now.’

‘Stay here then,’ May offers firmly.

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly – ’

‘I’ll be awake planning, anyway. Sleep.’

May watches that pass across the girl’s face as she deliberates, decides. She looks back up at May with sheepish eyes, before nodding thankfully.

‘Wake me in a few hours?’ she asks in a small voice, kicking off her shoes.

_Not a chance._

‘Sure.’

Jemma scowls, but her blinks are slowly becoming more infrequent, her eyelids battling to remain open. ‘I know you’re lying,’ she accuses without any real bite.

With the faintest hint of a smile, May watches her pull back the covers and snuggle in, wavering on whether or not to say anything more. She could just leave it until tomorrow, but perhaps it’s better to voice it here – in the weird twilight of her childhood bedroom, where everything still feels a little surreal.

She relents.

‘I might need you to drive for a bit tomorrow.’

Jemma blinks up at May owlishly.

‘Of course,’ she assures, voice soft.

May nods, then slips quietly from the room.

 

-

-

 

‘I like the English one,’ May’s mother announces from where she’s seated at the kitchen table downstairs. Suppressing an eye roll, May walks across and sits herself down on the opposite side, flopping into the chair gracelessly.

‘Not the American one?’ she asks dryly.

Lian May makes the familiar, disapproving humming noise that was the soundtrack to May’s childhood. ‘She’s not afraid of me.’

May huffs out a laugh – only her mother could be genuinely disappointed by that fact – before organising the roadmaps into a pile in front of her. The other woman wordlessly pushes a mug of tea across the table, which May accepts with a grateful purse of her lips. They sit in silence for a long time then, sipping neatly at their drinks and staring into space, and May feels like she’s 13 years old again. She’d always been sitting there reluctantly back then, drinking the tea as though under duress, but there was always a palpable shift after a few minutes where she’d remember that she actually enjoyed these shared moments.

There isn’t a shift this time. May thinks it’s because she’s been in that second, appreciative space since turning up on the doorstep hours earlier.

‘Do you remember Jimmy Jones?’ her mom asks at length. May gives in to the urge this time, rolling her eyes.

‘Of course I re– ’

‘ – Jimmy Jones,’ she continues over the top of May, clearly intent on telling this story. Despite the fact that May actually lived it. ‘Was friends with all the biggest, toughest boys in school. He knew  _all_  of them. One day, he stole all of your pencils and never gave them back. Now, you knew that if you confronted him about it, you’d suffer at the hands of each and every one of those boys. They would rain hell down upon you. And you know what you did?’

May’s teeth are clenched. ‘No. What did I do?’

Her mother, predictably, glowers at the insolence, but she’s too determined to make her point to stop for a mere reprimand.

‘You confronted him anyway. Regardless of the wrath you knew that you would incur.’

This is not simply a trip down memory lane, May knows. There’s a reason for the sudden storytime. She hasn’t actually told her mother anything about their situation – she can’t, the details are far too incriminating – but she knows the woman has picked up on a lot of it herself.

‘What’s your point?’ May asks wearily.

Her mother sighs. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, because this is looking a lot like Jimmy Jones.’

Except it’s not like Jimmy Jones, is it? There had been a choice, back then. Honour or safety. That’s not at all what this is.

This is about survival.

‘Those kids are breaking, Melinda,’ her mom warns, turning back to her tea.

May thinks of Skye slumped in the back seat – shaking uncontrollably, her muscles twitching in the shocking aftermath of using her powers. She thinks of Jemma’s frenzied attempts at buoyancy, desperately trying to patch up the tears in the fabric of  _them_ ; of the dull pain on her face whenever she’s lost in thought for too long.

_I know they are,_ May thinks. _I know._

She unfolds the maps once more.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Guilty' by Marina and the Diamonds. Thanks for reading!!


End file.
